


Every Me

by nicasio_silang



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Sibling Incest, figure skater loki, hockey player thor, i can't, jesus what how did this, what
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 19:23:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicasio_silang/pseuds/nicasio_silang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor can’t say it. He simply cannot. So instead, he turns and places his hand, steam-hot, on the chilled, sleek plane of his brother’s stomach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Me

The locker room showers at the rink pretend at modesty with thin, hospital-gown-blue curtains strung among the shower heads; the barest sketch of individual stalls. Intermittent breezes from the door and the heating vents kick the flimsy vinyl around, catch them up on Thor’s damned calves where they stick and won’t be kicked off without taking their toll of indignity. But the water is hot, stays hot forever, so he drops his neck, lets it pound at the top of his spine, and tries to think of anything but his brother. His brother, who he heard come in more than a minute ago. Who’s somewhere in the room, quiet.

Loki had entered the rink to warm up while Thor was cooling down. No greeting, just began turning laps while Thor, stick braced under him, stretched low into most of a split. He always had the uncomfortable image of himself from outside at moments like that-- hulking and ungainly, the padding and helmet turning him into a man made of blocks and dull angles. It truly isn’t something he worries about ordinarily, but with Loki speeding past, skimming low, throwing out a single axel (equally possible that he already stretched off the ice, or that he cares more about showing off than about his own safety), with Loki so pointedly not looking at him, Thor’s body felt huge, absurd. The noise of the discomfort became so loud in his ears that Thor heaved himself up and sped to catch Loki at the far turn, fell in step with him, forwards as Loki turned to skate backwards.

Loki widened his eyes as if noticing Thor’s presence for the first time.

“Would you like me to slow down for you?” he asked.

Full gear doesn’t make for fast laps, but Thor could only reply, through hard, huffing breaths, “And when have you ever shown me that particular courtesy?” 

Quick as a dart, Loki’s smile then.

“Oh, only all my life.”

They made one fast, quiet lap, snick-snack blades on the ice. Thor stretching his arms over his head, hockey stick in his hands, twisting back, forth, rolling his shoulders. Loki going double-time to spin amiable circles around his brother. Back, forth, high, low.

A hummingbird. A cormorant. No, a kingfisher.

Thor doesn’t say that, he says, “I’m gonna hit the showers.”

“Yes, please do.” Loki tilts his arabesque into a lazy camel spin. “Oh, and Thor?” 

He says it just as Thor steps onto solid ground, the moment he feels 50 lbs heavier and singularly not made for this world where his brother glides up to the wall, slick, steady, a smile in the corners of his eyes.

“What is it?” Thor shucks his helmet, his gloves. “Will you need a ride home?”

“How kind of you to offer, but no.” Loki doesn’t rest his hands on the wall, but his fingers hover just above it. “I wanted to say, well, that although I have disparaged your chosen sport as brutish and asinine, that stretch you were doing when I came in…” He flips his hands over, spreads them, moves backwards on the ice through no visible force of effort. “Quite becoming. Perhaps there’s some use in your grunting and sweating around the rink after all.”

So now: Thor in the showers, curtain stuck to his leg, spray hitting his nape, one hand pulling his hair at the crown of his skull, one hand holding himself around the ribs, holding in his measured breaths. He’s been in here long enough that all the cold sweat’s been sluiced off him, and to remain is animal indulgence and fear. 

He heard Loki stripping off his practice clothes. He heard the boots come off, the loose pants, the tight shirt. Heard him pad into the showers, but didn’t hear another shower turn on. Thought he heard him. Thought he heard Loki just on the other side of the curtain. 

What's wrong with indulgence, in any case? Nobody gets hurt. 

There’s a certain place he goes to. 

They were teenagers. Loki had been so small always, but that year he shot up, was a hand taller than Thor by the winter solstice. They were up north at their mother’s sister’s home in the middle of the mountains, the forest. There was a path behind the house, and a pond at the end of the path. They wore their aunt’s old skates which were clunkier than Loki was used to, slimmer than Thor usually wore. They toddled on the mottled, uneven ice like kids. When Thor needed it, he reached for his brother’s hand and it was there. 

It was an uncomplicated season. 

Loki pulls the shower curtain from Thor’s skin. 

“Somehow,” he says, “I knew you would still be here.”

“I don’t…” says Thor. He hasn’t moved. A sigh from behind him.

“If you’d like, you can play dumb, and I can leave.”

Thor can’t say it. He simply cannot. So instead, he turns and places his hand, steam-hot, on the chilled, sleek plane of his brother’s stomach. Under his fingers, Loki breathes out. He’s one step away. Water falls between them and Thor is rooted. The exertion of practice and the heat of the shower have flushed Loki, the blush riding high on his cheeks, low down his thighs. He is unabashedly erect. He’s looking at Thor with such affectionate patience. Mocking, someone else might say, but this is his brother, and Thor knows. Artifice does not mean insincerity.

Thor leans in. Loki won’t meet him halfway. Thor leans all the way in, their noses side-by-side, their breath passing back and forth, their eyes open. Loki steps forward, Thor steps back. Loki brackets Thor’s body with his own, presses Thor’s knees apart, reaches behind him for the bottle of conditioner. 

Thor wants to be better at this. It shouldn't be like this. One day it won’t take him over this way, one day he won’t find himself panting like a racehorse, won’t feel his strength fail him, he’ll be able to say something. 

Loki knows how he gets. Loki says, _Let me,_ and takes him in hand, insinuates himself more snugly between Thor’s legs, gets a hand in the crook of Thor’s knee and lifts his foot up off the floor, uncaps the bottle.

There was another time, a couple years back. Loki had just come home from the Worlds (silver; he didn't want to talk about it), and Thor was at the apex of the off-season (his rookie season; he wanted to talk about it all the time). They had the old guard together-- old friends who were thrillingly unintimidated by them. It was a good night, a good bar, everything in old, worn, dark wood. Real dart boards, none of the flashy electronic stuff. Loki wearing short sleeves, ordering round after round, in fine form. 

Thor wanted all night to catch him alone, to ask how he really was behind all the teeth he was showing. But when he finally chanced to find him in the back hallway by the men’s room, Loki took him by the back of his neck out the back door and by the light of the parking lot got down on his knees and sucked Thor’s cock like a starving man. Thor, frozen, reduced, clung to the brick wall behind him and closed his eyes. The sloppy, wet noise of Loki’s mouth on him seemed cacophonous, so Thor covered it up with Loki’s name. 

And Thor can’t stay, he can’t stay in one place.

Here in the shower, straining to keep one leg as high as he can off the ground, two of Loki’s fingers in his ass now, so smooth, so long, pressing and pressing. Loki hissing into his ear _I’ve got you. Yeah, now I’ve got you._ Thor’s hands on the tile behind him, Thor’s hands on the brick wall, his brother everywhere around him.

When Loki finally takes his fingers out of him, finally lines up and slides in heavy and slow, it’s so grounding, so present, that Thor shakes, his stomach shudders. He drops his head to Loki’s shoulder and says, “Thank you.” 

Loki laughs. He always laughs eventually. 

“Don’t thank me yet.”

And Thor tries to remember a time before, when it wasn't like this. He reaches, his hands slip on the wet tile, there’s nothing there.


End file.
